


The Pickup Line I Deserve

by hannah_baker



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Flirting, Dancing, M/M, One Night Stand, PWP, Sass, Topping from the Bottom, shitty pick up lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 02:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannah_baker/pseuds/hannah_baker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale has a type: tall, lanky, pale, brunette, passive. Stiles Stilinski is nearly all of those things - but not quite. </p>
<p>Or, The Time Derek Hale's One Night Stand Was More Than He Bargained For.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pickup Line I Deserve

**Author's Note:**

> Stiles is of age, if that is a thing that bothers you.

“That one,” Erica said, pointing to the bar across the club from their booth. The dance music pumped too loudly for her ears, but if werewolf hearing was good for anything, it was being able to hear her packmates without them shouting - even if it did mean a pounding headache after she left.

“Which?” Derek asked, tilting his head to the side as he scanned the boys by the bar.

“The one with the cute moles, the plaid, and the Bud Light,” she said, sipping on her own drink. Derek had been crabby the whole week, and because Erica knew her alpha, she was on a mission to get him laid.

“He’s with someone,” Derek said dismissively, pinching his eyebrows down sullenly. Erica rolled her eyes at him. He’d come to the club with her and Boyd because they had insisted, not because he was particularly motivated. But he wasn’t the one who had to put up with his own bullshit.

“They’re just friends,” Erica said. “They haven’t touched all night, the the guy he’s with has checked out every girl who had walked past. Straight as an arrow.”

“And what if I go home alone tonight?” Derek asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“If he’s not what you want, then whatever. Find someone different. Just for the love of god get your rocks off so I don’t have to deal with your brooding anymore.” She drained her cup and pulled Boyd after her onto the dance floor, shooting Derek a look as she left him alone in the booth.

Derek was contemplating just going home alone, when the boy Erica had pointed out turned his head and met his gaze. The boy’s lips quirked up at him quickly before his friend slapped him on the shoulder and pointed at someone in the crowd, drawing his attention away.

Erica was correct in her selection. If Derek had a type at all, it was exactly this boy. Messy brown hair, pale skin, lanky. He was dressed pretty plainly compared to most of the other guys here with their tight or non-existent shirts and enough glitter that in sharing the dance floor you consented to craft supplies herpes that would take a few days of showers to escape. The guy had a short sleeve button up shit on - the kind that skater kids wore when they thought they were dressing up - and he tipped his head back in a huge laugh when his friend apparently finished up the joke that he had told him. 

_Fine, Erica_ , he thought as he stood up and waded through the crowd toward the bar. The boy had finished his beer by the time he approached and he caught his eye again. He gave his friend a look, and the friend, a good and dutiful wingman, fucked off. Derek could respect that. 

“Can I get you another?” Derek asked, nodding toward the empty bottle on the counter, and letting his face relax into a smile - the one he knew people liked. Most of his flirting focused on not looking as surly as he usually did. The guy blushed a little and nodded, his smile turning down shyly at the corners. Derek bought them each one and introduced himself. “I’m Derek,” he said, holding his hand out to shake. 

“Stiles,” the guy said, and had Derek not been in possession of excellent hearing, he would have asked to hear that one again. Stiles? Really?

“Nice to meet you, Stiles,” Derek said, letting his fingertips skim Stiles’ arm lightly. If Derek had figured out anything about life, it was that people gave him what he wanted as long as he made them feel important - validation from a pretty face. It wasn’t his proudest accomplishment, but it was effective. He took a few swigs of his beer to make Stiles feel comfortable. Even though he couldn’t get drunk, he knew that humans felt more comfortable drinking if he was too. It set them on even footing. 

“Do you want to dance?” he asked after a few beats, setting his half consumed beer back down on the counter. 

“Yes,” Stiles said, now definitive and confident. There was a little mischief in his eyes now that Derek had missed before. He thought Stiles had been a deer - soft prey. Now it felt more like a game. Stiles slammed the rest of his drink and left the bottle behind as Derek took his hand and led him onto the dance floor. 

The Jungle was the only gay club in Beacon Hills, and Derek wasn’t going to pretend that he hadn’t been there a few times before. He had a rhythm. Buy a cute guy a drink, dance for a while until they are both sexually frustrated, take the guy home, pay for his cab after. Derek wasn’t looking for a relationship, and neither were the guys he was fucking. It was a situation that worked for him, for the time being. 

The music was loud with a moderate tempo, and Derek pulled Stiles into him, letting his hands rest low on Stiles’ hips as Stiles’ arms came up to rest around his shoulders. They weren’t pressed flush, but Derek wasn’t shy about his intentions - in two songs he’d have Stiles in the passenger seat of his Camaro and they both knew it. Stiles’ smile was wide across his face as he moved to the beat, his body following the music without doubt. Derek had danced with plenty of guys who were confident in their moves, but Stiles had something more than that. Stiles _was_ his moves. 

“I love this song!” Stiles shouted at him as the music switched from the slow grind Derek was comfortable working with to something poppier, bouncier. Derek was used to dancing with guys who knew that dancing was just foreplay. It was just grinding and touching and pretending that they weren’t making out on a dance floor full of people telling themselves the same thing. Stiles, it seemed, actually enjoyed the dancing aspect of this. 

He danced with his arms up, his hips shaking, his lips mouthing the words to the song. He backed away from Derek a little bit so he could move freely, taking one of Derek’s hands in his own as he spun himself around and backed up, shaking his ass in a way that should be illegal. And he had moves - he didn’t dance like the other guys at the club though. He danced half a beat off the music, a little oblivious to the people around them. He let his limbs do their own thing, let his shoulders slide to the right, then the left as he turned around again to look Derek in the eye, like he’s daring him. 

And Derek didn’t understand him. Didn’t understand how this awkward, gangly little mouth breather was so captivating. Stiles’ poppy dance beat finally slowed back down to Derek's groove, and he looped his fingers in Stiles’ belt loops to pull him forward slowly, letting his hands spread back over Stiles hips, letting their foreheads come together. Derek’s eyes challenged him over the grind of the music, and Stiles smiled before melting into Derek’s body, hands coming up to rest on Derek’s chest. 

“You’re quite the dancer,” Derek said, leaning into Stiles’ ear, letting his tongue dart out to lightly trace the shell of Stiles’ ear. He felt the shiver through his body, heard Stiles’ heartbeat skitter. 

“Nobody can handle these moves,” Stiles replied, letting his arms slide up to Derek’s neck. Stiles must have been only about an inch shorter than him, but his body language at the moment said _small, soft, ripe, yours_ \- that is until Derek saw that same flash of _naughty_ in his eyes. Stiles had relinquished control to Derek as the song had switched over, let Derek’s hands guide the sway of his hips. Now he was taking it back, leaning his face in to nuzzle against Derek’s neck. His teeth gently found Derek’s ear lobe, and Derek realized in the moment just before Stiles let out a breathy little moan that he was being played with as much as he was playing with Stiles. 

He was surprised at how much he liked it. 

“Do you want to keep dancing,” Derek asked, cutting to the chase, “or do you want to come home with me?” 

Stiles smirked. “I hate dancing,” he lied, and followed as Derek led them back off the dance floor thinking about snakes and dirt and barbie dolls to try to keep his head straight and his dick soft - at least for the moment. 

Stiles followed him back to the parking lot and gave a low whistle when he saw Derek’s car. “Are you being serious with that thing?” he asked, but slid into the passenger seat anyway. 

The drive back to Derek’s place took about fifteen minutes, during which Stiles pressed every single button on his center console and stopped talking only for long enough to text his friend Scott that he’d left. “Scott has my keys,” he explained. “He can get himself home fine.” 

Derek always loved bringing guys back to his loft, if for no other reason than his extreme pride. His loft was sexy. But there was a little part of him that was nervous this time around. He usually felt like he brought the same boy home over and over - a nice, twinky bottom who would submit to him and not have too much of a personality. Someone who would moan his name, and be content enough in his orgasm to promptly get out of Derek's bed and go the fuck home.

But Stiles... 

Stiles laughed when Derek opened his front door. “You’re shitting me,” he said. “First the muscle car, then the leather jacket,” he said, shifting his shoulders under the jacket Derek had put on him when they’d gotten out of the car - it was cold out, shut up, “and now this modern, sexy, lofty thing?” Derek had no idea how Stiles could make ‘sexy’ sound derogitory. 

“What’s wrong with it?” Derek said defensively, flipping the deadbolt on his door, and taking the jacket back from Stiles when he offered it, hanging it on the hook by the door. 

“Absolutely nothing,” Stiles said, his pupils blown wide as he looked at Derek. He pressed Derek against the front door slowly and ran his nose along Derek’s jaw with a confidence that made Derek think Stiles must know about werewolves. Stiles was marking his territory. Derek shivered. “Your sheets are sexy too,” Stiles said, acknowledging his crappy come-on by sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth, nodding back over his shoulder to where Derek’s bed was, back in the corner.

Derek tried to snap out of his Stiles-induced stupor and rolled his eyes, picking Stiles up under his ass, pleased at the squeak of surprise he released. He walked them over to the bed, nipping playfully at Stiles’ jaw on the way. Stiles clutched onto Derek’s shoulders as though he would fall off a cliff if he didn’t, releasing his grip only after Derek had him on his back, pressing close and finally leaning in for a kiss. 

Derek had learned a few secrets about kissing in the past few years of his sort-of-slutty adventures. The main one: Apply liberally. Kissing made him seem more human, more emotional, more trustworthy. He started gently with Stiles, feeling him out, tasting the cheap beer lingering on his lips. He flicked his tongue over Stiles’ mouth and Stiles melted beneath him, let Derek have his play at dominance, before he pulled Derek even closer and tugged hard on his lip with his teeth. Derek had to bite back a growl. 

Stiles was wiggling frantically beneath him, and Derek snapped out of his sudden haze of lust to realize that his body was weighing down and preventing Stiles’ struggle out of his clothes. Derek eased up to pull his shirt over his head but paused to enjoy the view beneath him instead. Stiles was clumsy with his button up, but Derek didn’t help him, choosing to watch Stiles’ long, slim fingers struggle with the buttons. Stiles shot him a look.

“Never wearing a button up shirt ever again,” he announced, finally getting the last button free and shimmying out of it, throwing it on the floor and letting the t-shirt underneath it follow. “Now you, big guy,” Stiles said, settling back on his elbows and waggling his eyebrows, waiting for a show. 

Derek smirked. He could play this game. He gripped the bottom hem of his tight henly and pulled it up slowly, revealing muscle after muscle. When he finally pulled it all the way off he tossed it near Stiles’ clothes and raised an eyebrow at the face Stiles was making, his slackened jaw revealing the soft, wet interior of his mouth. 

“Like what you see?” Derek asked, comfortable finally with his shirt off. He was more than aware of what he looked like, how people reacted to his body. Stiles seemed to be reacting normally - finally. 

“Is that your pickup line? Cause _damn_ , I want your dick in me, but you gotta sweet talk me a little better than that,” Stiles said, reaching up to run a finger down Derek’s abs. Derek grabbed his wrists and pulled them up over his head, enjoying the way it immediately made Stiles arch into him. He ground his hips down into Stiles’ and kissed him until they were both panting. 

“Does this really need to be about talking?” Derek asked, unzipping Stiles’ jeans and pulling them down over his slim hips. Derek had a thing for skinny, bony, boy hips. He’d learned early that soft, curvy, female bodies didn’t do a whole lot for him. Stiles’ trim frame on the other hand was exactly what he craved. 

“Okay, fine, your abs are your pickup line, I accept,” Stiles said, lifting his hips up so Derek could pull his boxer briefs off after his jeans. He was on his way to having a fully hard dick, and watching Derek peel his tight grey pants off of his toned thighs and ass got him the rest of the way there. 

Derek was the greek god Stiles had been picturing earlier that evening when Scott had dragged him out to the Jungle. Three months later, and Stiles was still moping about getting dumped after he and his boyfriend graduated from college and his boyfriend moved back home to the east coast. Scott had enticed him with the prospect of hard abs, dance music, and alcohol - though Stiles had only actually expected his night to have two out of those three things. Mainly he went because Scott asked him, and he couldn’t turn Scott down. 

This unexpected turn of events was completely welcome, however. Derek paused for a beat after he tugged off his remaining sock and held still, letting Stiles rake his eyes over the full picture. Derek was toned and not too tan, his hair perfectly coiffed but also soft-looking. Stiles wanted to fuck him and cuddle him at the same time. He knew he’d have to choose though. His eyes drifted to Derek’s hard dick. He chose fuck.

He pulled Derek back on top of him, settling them in the center of the mattress. Derek’s body was heavy and warm, and the feeling of bare skin on his own felt like coals sparking every nerve ending possible. Stiles was still exploring having sex just for fun. He’d had a lot of relationship sex - sex that Meant Something. Sex multiple times with the same partner. One night stands were still pretty new for him. Being with someone new was scary and exhilarating, his heart pumping double time. He liked the freedom of having no expectations of him, no preconceived notions. He could be whoever he wanted to be in this bed with this man. He parted his legs and let Derek’s body sink between them. 

Derek held Stiles’ jaw gently with one hand to steady their rough kiss as his other hand skimmed over Stiles’ body, over his clavicle, down his rib cage, to his slightly curved engorged dick. Derek’s heightened senses gave him plenty of information that he knew Stiles wasn’t getting off of him. Heart rate, arousal, the small twinge of fear that Stiles was feeling that made Derek feel both a little shitty and completely horny. But Derek felt his own dick twitch against Stiles’ leg as he took Stiles’ heavy length into his hand, and knew they were a little closer to even ground.

Stiles let Derek fondle him for a while, let him cover his body in kisses leaving trails of saliva that cooled on his skin and left behind goosebumps. There wasn’t enough making out and heavy petting in the world in Stiles’ opinion, and he was pleased that Derek seemed to be in agreement. 

After teasing Stiles and rutting against his hip for as long as he could take it, Derek finally grabbed the lube from the nightstand and let his hand slip lower, down beneath Stiles’ balls. His fingers were gentle and teasing, and just as he thought he might turn Stiles into a little puddle of jelly Stiles let out a groan, smacked Derek’s hand away, and flipped onto his hands and knees. 

“Finger me this way,” he said, his ass in the air, bedroom eyes looking back at Derek over his shoulder as he made his demands. Derek was a little taken aback. And he wasn’t generally taken aback in bed. Stiles was definitely not an easy little deer to take down.

“Mouthy,” he said under his breath, slipping a slick finger into Stiles slowly. 

“I’m no one’s sub, babycakes,” Stiles said before shoving his face into Derek’s pillow and letting out a shameless moan. Derek liked fingering guys when they were on their backs and Derek could loom, keep eye contact, watch the faces they made because of the things Derek was doing to them. But Stiles was pressing back on his finger with a bit of an arched flourish, and all of the sudden Derek’s mouth was dry. 

Derek hurried to finish prepping Stiles, sliding the condom on his dick as Stiles flopped onto his back again, hand lazily stroking himself. “Wouldn’t mind those fingers in me again - or something else,” he said with a cheeky grin. Derek shoved Stiles’ legs back apart and pushed one up, getting a bit of a grip on his thigh right beneath his knee before leaning over for a kiss. Stiles was enthusiastic in its return, lips and tongue sloppy and distracted as Derek lined his dick up with Stiles’ hole. 

“Wait a second,” Stiles said, words clumsy and eyelids hooded from lust. Derek stopped and let up his grip a bit as Stiles wiggled out of it. He was on his knees in seconds, facing Derek and pulling him into a kiss that seemed almost romantic - slow and deep and sweet, Stiles’ arms wrapped loosely around Derek’s neck. It wasn’t like the sloppy, sharp kisses they’d been trading throughout the evening and it caught Derek off guard once again.

And then Derek was on his back. Stiles didn’t look incredibly strong, but he knew how to use his body weight to his own advantage, The mischief flickered in his eyes once again as he climbed astride Derek’s hips.

“I think it’s more fun this way,” Stiles said, reaching behind him to line up Derek before slowly sinking down on Derek’s cock. His hands were braced on Derek’s stomach as he lowered himself down, his head thrown back, mouth open. His neck seemed a mile long and the groan he let out when Derek was all the way in him was soft but unbelieveably pornagraphic.

Derek’s hands gripped Stiles’ hips, not sure of what else to do as Stiles began to fuck himself on Derek’s cock. His eyes were closed as his body rocked on top of Derek, a hand pleasuring himself every few strokes before finding Derek’s body again for support.

Derek gave into it, to the feeling of Stiles riding him, the sticky rhythm that Stiles couldn’t prefect because every time Derek’s dick brushed his prostate his body shook. After what seemed like endless minutes of Stiles’ gorgeous pale skin on display for him, he curled down, his forearms resting on either side of Derek’s head as he claimed him in a kiss, hips grinding backward in a movement that Derek was once again comfortable with - his dance floor grind.

With Stiles curled on top of him, Derek was able to thrust up, the sound of skin hitting skin reverberating off his rough walls and high ceiling. His grip on Stiles’ hips tightened as he held him still to fuck him. Their skin was getting sticky from sweat and Stiles was panting and shaking on top of him. Derek was pretty experienced and usually had some great stamina. But covered in Stiles, in the way he smelled, the way he felt and tasted - he already felt like he was getting close to the edge. 

“Fuck, yeah, like that,” Stiles muttered as Derek hit his prostate again, and he tucked his face into Derek’s neck, holding onto him as Derek took control. He could feel Stiles’ daring streak wearing off as worried Derek’s collar bone lazily with his teeth between moans, and Derek took his moment of weakness to wrap an arm tight around his waist and flip him over onto his back. Stiles laughed and looked more relaxed than the moment before, an easy, playful smile crossing his face.

“Don’t think I don’t like that rough shit, sweet thang,” Stiles said, his eyes flirting even mid-fuck, dick weeping against his stomach. Derek took it as an invitation, slamming into Stiles hard and fast, holding him down by his biceps. Stiles let out a continuous stream of moans, and if Derek had neighbors he might have been concerned. 

Derek, however, did not have neighbors. 

Stiles scrambled out of Derek’s tight hold to wrap a hand around his dick, jerking himself hard and arching into Derek as he came over his chest and stomach. Derek pressed on, focusing on the way Stiles lips would look wrapped around his dick, on how badly he wanted to come on his face and watch Stiles’ pink tongue dart out to lick himself clean. It didn’t take much until his own orgasm racked through his body, Stiles easing him down to rest on his chest as he got his breathing under control. 

“Mmm, yeah, I’d do that again,” Stiles said as Derek pulled out of him and rolled off, snagging his shirt off the floor to clean himself up a little before he tossed it onto the mess on Stiles’ stomach. “This is probably my cue to scram, right?” Stiles asked, getting Derek’s shirt absolutely covered in his jizz. Derek may or may not have thought about saving it for a few seconds before resolving to throw it in the hamper for the laundromat. 

“You don’t have to go,” Derek said to the man in his bed for the first time ever, eyebrows heavy as he looked at Stiles. He’d sat up as he’d cleaned himself off and his pale skin glowed in the moonlight. The honey eyes that had looked so sneaky when they were playing looked gentle now. The way he held his mouth slightly open at all times made him look so young. “How old are you?” Derek asked, his question slipping off his tongue before he could even think to shut the fuck up and let Stiles leave. 

“Twenty-two,” Stiles answered.

“You look fifteen,” Derek said, his eyes raking over Stiles’ lean frame, reveling in the full body blush that broke out over his skin. 

“You fucked me like _that_ thinking I was fifteen?” Stiles asked incredulously.

“Of course I didn’t actually think you were fifteen. You were at an eighteen-plus bar, you were drinking a beer.” Derek’s logic was solid but Stiles still rolled his eyes.

“I’ve been going to the Jungle since I was sixteen,” he replied. “And drinking there since I was eighteen.”

“I’ve never seen you there,” Derek said, trying not to notice how easy conversation with Stiles was going. He was good at the physical part of picking up guys, and didn’t do a whole lot of small talk.

“I just graduated from college,” he said. “Came back home for a while.”

“Congrats,” Derek said dryly. He was a little cynical to the experience.

“Still unemployed, but thanks,” Stiles said. He flopped back on Derek’s bed and Derek pulled him close. He tilted Stiles lips up toward his and kissed him again - this time post-orgasm. There was no agenda, just a few sweet slides against Stiles’ mouth. 

“You’re a good kisser,” Stiles told him when he pulled away, his body limp, his brain pulling him into post-coital sleep. 

“Stay here tonight,” Derek offered again, enticed for the first time in years at the prospect of waking up next to someone, “and find out what else my mouth is good at tomorrow morning.”

“Finally. Now _there’s_ the pick up line I deserve,” Stiles said approvingly, stretching a sleepy stretch into Derek’s side and pulling the covers down to slide under. “Sold.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me [on tumblr](http://hannahisawolf.tumblr.com) for some quality reblogs of cute boys, etc.


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